Master of Freedom: A Mountain Masters Novella

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Here, girl, have some essential salt and grease.” Becca slid a plate of French fries over. “So what happened today?”

  “Well, first there was a prisoner who…well, he feels so guilty about hurting a friend”—about being the cause of his friend’s death—“that he’s almost suicidal.” And having Howard Slidell as his counselor in the past sure hadn’t helped.

  Could she pull him out of it?

  She would. She had to.

  “The next one”—she made a face—“he didn’t want counseling as much as he wanted to…um, play with himself. In my office.”

  The shocked expressions of the others made her grin. “Then came the guy who was spitting and yelling at me through the entire session. His list of sexual endeavors was extensive, but I do believe some are not physically possible.”

  Kallie was giggling, Becca laughing outright.

  Summer’s smile faded. “Virgil—my husband is a police lieutenant—said a prisoner was murdered. Shanked?”

  Gin’s hands tensed on her mug. “It was horrible. The guard, I mean the correctional officer”—she needed to be better about remembering the correct title—“said an old con had sharpened a toothbrush handle and stabbed a new inmate.” Gin took a deep drink. The young man had done cleaning and always had a polite word for her. And now he was gone.

  “Oh, that’s brutal.” Summer patted her hand.

  Kallie frowned. “Bet the warden’s catching some grief over the death. People weren’t happy when the state built the prison out here. They were worried about escapees and all that.”

  “No doubt. Although, the facility is awfully isolated,” Gin said. “Have you been on the road to it? All those steep curves? I almost wet my pants the first time I drove it.”

  Becca laughed. “You should see the road to our lodge. And wait until it snows.”

  “I am so screwed,” Gin moaned. “I don’t know how to do snow. The highest peak in Louisiana is the levee.”

  “Ah ay-im so sca-rewed,” Kallie said. “I love your accent. And I’m being shallow, but you sound just like Scarlett O’Hara.”

  “I loved Gone with the Wind when I was little.” Except the ending. Her smile flattened at the flash of memory. Standing on the sidewalk as her father put his suitcase in the car. “B-but, Daddy, I’ll try. I will. I’ll do more…” He hadn’t stopped. Had driven away, just like Rhett.

  “So you’ve been here only two months?” Summer asked.

  “Mmmhmm. I might should have done more reading before I ran off to California.”

  “Hey, why ruin the joy of discovery?” Becca tilted her head. “But was there a reason you left too fast for due diligence?” Under Becca’s genuine concern, the question didn’t feel intrusive.

  “My fiancé and I broke up. And I…” She’d hurt so badly and would have done anything to keep him. The realization had panicked her enough that she’d snapped up the most distant job offered. Possessing a California license from years ago let her start immediately. “I didn’t want…”

  “To ever see his face again?” Summer nodded. “I know the feeling.”

  “Men.” Kallie refilled Gin’s glass. “They can be such bastards.”

  “Dumb too. There are moments I’m not sure they’re any smarter than stumps,” Summer agreed.

  “So true.” Becca grinned. “Except for our husbands, who only occasionally descend to the maggot-IQ levels.”

  As alcohol buzzed through her veins, Gin realized she should have eaten before drinking. She grabbed a French fry. “Husbands, huh? So, you won’t be out partying and picking up men?” With me? She didn’t want another man, but how could she give up dancing?

  And sex. Surely a girl could find a man who’d be a good lover without wanting anything more.

  “You’ve never seen territorial men like ours.” Becca grinned. “My husband would tan my ass if I tried.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure he would.” Gin snorted.

  “Oh, Logan has paddled my behind before,” Becca said.

  What…seriously? A thrill shot through her at the thought of` spanking. Lord, have mercy, she’d certainly been reading too many erotic novels.

  Becca waved her hand at the others. “Jake and Virgil would too if their ladies misbehaved.”

  “Becca.” Summer frowned at Becca.

  Kallie chimed in. “This isn’t a topic for general conversation.”

  “Let me tell you how I met Gin.” Becca grinned at her friends.

  Gin choked on her beer. “No.” But she was coughing too hard to be understood.

  “It was in Pottery and Pages. Would you believe Mrs. Reed set up a WHAT TO READ AFTER 50 SHADES display?” Becca nodded at her shocked friends. “Truth. Anyway, Gin had picked up a Lexi Blake/Shayla Black book, a Fiona Archer, and a J. Kenner.”

  Gin considered crawling under the table. True, she and Becca had hit it off, but still…she’d just met these others. Nice, normal women who lived in a small, small town. She was doomed. And her blush must be approaching crimson.

  Summer shook her head. “Becca, you’re embarrassing her. Did you mention we’re into the same kink?”

  “Of course… Oh God, I didn’t.” Becca turned to Gin. “You must think I outted your reading habits to the Christian ladies sewing circle, right?”

  Gin managed to pull in a breath. “Uh, actually, yes.”

  Across the table, Kallie and Summer were giggling themselves stupid.

  Kallie held up a hand. “None of us are, like, in the 24/7 lifestyle, but we do play. In fact, I’m leading a wilderness tour this weekend for people wanting instruction about BDSM. My husband and his friend are teaching it.”

  Beer. Drink some beer. Gin took such a big gulp that she choked. Again. Her face not only felt hot, but now her whole body had entered the sauna. “Wait,” she said hoarsely. “You mean the romances are for real? BDSM is real?”

  Becca’s eyebrows lifted quizzically. “Well, yes.”

  Oh. My. Stars. “My ex-fiancé said the stories were just hot fantasies made up to sell books.” People really did that stuff? Gin leaned forward to whisper to Kallie, “And you take people and teach them how?”

  Kallie tilted her head. “Mmmhmm.”

  Wow. Wow, wow, wow. “I never thought…” Her insides were quivering. Fantasies couldn’t truly exist in physical form…right?

  “You know,” Kallie said slowly, a slight smile on her lips, “I could use assistance with camp chores. You want to come and see?”

  She shouldn’t. Bad, bad idea. “Yes.” The excitement racing through Gin’s veins made her body shake…until her common sense resurfaced. “Uh, maybe. Can I simply watch and see what’s what?”

  “That’s all that will happen. The guests are all couples—and monogamous. You couldn’t play even if you wanted to.” Kallie grinned. “You in?”

  It was real. The craving to see for herself was too overwhelming to be put aside. “Yes. Please. I’m in.”

  Chapter Two

  In the twilight, Atticus Ware finished rubbing down Festus. He turned the buckskin into a roughly constructed corral with the Mastersons’ pack animals.

  A long stretch eased the ache in his shoulders, and a slow breath cleared the shadows from his mind. Sometimes even a small mountain town like Bear Flat contained too much civilization. At intervals, he needed to escape, to inhale the crisp, clean air, to hear the thud of horse’s hooves on a dirt trail, to watch an eagle soar over the evergreen forest. Nature kept his spirit whole, no matter how depressing the world he worked in became.

  A job in law enforcement could be fucking grim.

  A scent drifted to him, and his eyebrows went up. Was that bread baking? Here? There was no oven available.

  As he crossed the mountain meadow, he noticed new green sprouts were poking up through the dead brown grass. A gurgling stream crossed through the valley, under a split-rail fence, then behind the row of one-room log cabins. Just past the cabins was the roof-only “pavilion,” holding the bricked-in grill
on the left, a fire pit in the center, and several rustic picnic tables. Two outhouses hid in the trees.

  Everything looked good. The Hunts and Mastersons had done a fine job turning Maud’s Creek meadow into a permanent spring camp. And it worked extremely well for BDSM classes.

  On Friday—yesterday—Jake and Kallie Hunt had brought their students up; last night, the new Doms should have received their first lessons. Tonight, Atticus would take the couples further into the lifestyle.

  Nothing was as fun as teaching bondage. And, despite the still chilly evenings, the fire pit should give off enough heat to let them have fun.

  He dumped his sleeping roll and saddlebags in an empty cabin and strolled toward the pavilion. With any luck, coffee might still be on the fire. Damned if he couldn’t use some. Although this was his day off, a massive car accident in the early hours had all hands on deck, even a detective.

  His mouth twisted. Ugly scene. Flashing lights, blood black on the pavement, twisted wreckage. All because some asshole decided his manhood might take a hit if he admitted to being too intoxicated to drive.

  Struck a little close to home, dammit, because he’d kept envisioning his brother as the belligerent drunk and their friend Ezra as the white-sheeted body on the ground.

  Sadness moved through him. He missed them both. Ezra had grown up on the neighboring Idaho ranch, one year younger than Atticus, two years older than Sawyer. The three had run wild as youngsters, until Atticus had been forced to grow up early. But once Sawyer had reached high school, they’d all fought together, rode rodeo together, even scored women together.

  Now Ezra was dead, and Sawyer was deteriorating in prison with a DUI manslaughter conviction.

  Idaho seemed very far away.

  “You all right, Atticus?” Jake Hunt called from the pavilion.

  He blinked and shook himself. Staring like a statue at the bubbling creek. Dumbass. “Just moving slow.”

  As he stepped under the pavilion roof, he glanced at the fire pit. It was already giving off a good amount of heat, as was the grill. “How many people am I teaching tonight?” he asked Jake.

  Jake Hunt and his brother owned a forest lodge catering to alternative lifestyles, including BDSM. Partnered with the Mastersons’ wilderness guides—one of whom was Jake’s wife—they occasionally conducted instructional camping trips. “Only three couples, all married. A great group.”

  “Good enough. They ready for bondage?”

  “They’re looking forward to tonight.” Jake tossed a steak on the grill. “I tried to find you a decent partner, but the submissive already had plans.”

  “Jesus, Hunt, I told you I’d find my own subs. Is butt out not in your vocabulary?”

  “Nope.” Jake grinned, then sobered. “Logan and I are damn well going to find you some better submissives since you don’t seem capable of doing it yourself.”

  “Butt out, Hunt.” He’d heard that married women often set up their girlfriends, but matchmaking wasn’t a word that should be used in the male zone. Ever. “Got any coffee?”

  “Should be some left.” Jake nodded to an old-fashioned percolator on the grill and returned to tending the sizzling steaks. In the ashes to one side, foil-wrapped potatoes formed silvery mounds. More coals buried a Dutch oven.

  Atticus sniffed. Fuck, that smelled fine. “Did Kallie make bread somehow?”

  “Not a chance.” Kallie approached from the rear. The tough, little black-eyed brunette—like a Hindu version of Tinker Bell—hugged him firmly. “Good to see you, Atticus.”

  “And you, half-pint,” he said, just to rile her some.

  She hated being called short, and her fist hit his belly with a solid thump.

  Enjoying her, he gave an exaggerated grunt of pain and bent over holding his stomach.

  She laughed.

  A low giggle came from someone else.

  Straightening, Atticus saw a woman next to Kallie. About five-five. Gorgeous green eyes held flecks the same golden-brown as the freckles sprinkling her cheeks. A long braid of dark auburn hair rested on one softly curved breast.

  Very, very nice.

  Her gaze fell in a beautifully unconscious display of submission.

  “Hi there.” He waited to smile until she looked at him again.

  Red touched her pale skin. “Hello.”

  “Virginia, this is Atticus,” Kallie said. “He’s the bondage instructor tonight.”

  “Virginia.” Atticus held his hand out.

  “It’s Gin, please. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Her slow, liquid drawl made him think of mint juleps and mansions. She gave him a crooked smile, the right side higher, creating a tiny dimple at the corner of her mouth.

  “Same here.” Her delicate fingers were decorated in a subtle silvery blue. Did she wear matching undies under her dark blue jeans—ironed, no less—and a form-fitting green thermal Henley? He’d bet the brand-new clothes were bought just for this trip.

  Why did he find that charming?

  Didn’t matter, since she wasn’t available to play. The only women here had come with their partners, and he wasn’t a man who poached.

  Gin’s heart beat disconcertingly fast as the man studied her with intent gray-blue eyes.

  After a second, she realized he still held her hand, and she jerked hers away, then flushed. Smooth, Gin. But the way he’d touched her… Could a man express sexual interest by holding a woman’s hand? Without moving?

  But his hand had been warm, the palm and fingers extremely hard and callused. And big too. Wasn’t it strange how when his hand had engulfed hers, she’d felt safe?

  He was over six feet tall, and the battered cowboy hat added more inches. Some men wore hats to cover up baldness, but his thick brown hair reached past his collar. His face was angular, his nose long, and a neatly trimmed beard accented the square strength of his jaw. He could have stepped from one of the cowboy movies she loved.

  The men who’d tamed the west wouldn’t have any trouble taming a woman…and neither would this one. A shiver ran through her.

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you cold, sweetheart?” he asked softly, his voice low and rough.

  Like she’d admit he’d made her shiver? “Yes.”

  “Virginia.” His disapproving expression made her stomach plummet. “First lesson for tonight: be honest. Even—and especially—when the answer makes you uncomfortable.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “B-but, I’m not—”

  “I know you’re not my submissive to correct, but I’m an instructor. Both your Dom and I must be able to trust you to tell the truth. Alright, pet?”

  “Yes. Of course.” She took a step back. “But I—”

  His eyes, stern and intent, zinged every thought from her head. “No buts.”

  “I… Would y’all kindly excuse me? I need to make the salad.” She walked with dignity to the cooking table, knowing she was totally fleeing. But why? Over the years, she’d managed the criminally insane, convicts. Teenagers even. And now she ran from a perfectly normal man?

  Only he wasn’t normal at all. He was…unsettling.

  Off to one side, Kallie had her hands over her mouth, smothering laughter. And Jake was grinning. Well, honestly. Couldn’t they have corrected the man? Gin shot them a scowl, which made Kallie laugh louder.

  As she chopped vegetables, she tried to concentrate. Except…he was watching her, that cowboy Dom. The feeling shivered over her skin and up her spine until she had to put the knife down before she took off a finger.

  * * * *

  With the supper cleanup finished, Gin perched on a picnic table in a shadowy corner, well away from the lanterns and firelight illuminating the rest of the pavilion. Well away from the heat of the fire pit too. The air held the tang of frost, and the table was cold under her bottom. Shivering, she pulled her knees against her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  Jake and Kallie had taken off to settle the horses for the night and enjoy time alone. Gin felt a bi
t envious of their open affection for each other. If Kallie was within reach, Jake had his arm around her. Kallie was more discreet, but she’d stand on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Jake’s jaw and end up plastered against him as he took more. Maybe they’d been married a year and a half, but their honeymoon sure wasn’t over. Lucky Kallie.

  Near the fire pit, Atticus sat on top of a picnic table, well lit by the lanterns hanging from the rafters. His boots were planted on the bench, his forearms on his knees. His hat lay beside him, and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. The three couples sat at an adjacent table.

  “How did your practice sessions go after Jake’s class last night?” he asked them.

  Two couples professed themselves extremely pleased.

  Natalie, the third submissive, wasn’t as thrilled. “I wanted Pete to just…just take complete charge, but he kept stopping to ask if I liked each thing he tried.” Her brows drew together. “I mean, I want him to care, but not to care.”

  From her perch off to one side, Gin played with her braid and considered. She’d had the same complaint about a couple of lovers. Wanted to kick them into gear and say, take me already.

  “Domination is a balancing act, especially if you haven’t worked with your partner before,” Atticus said to the men, not singling out the unhappy Dom. “And with some timid submissives, checking-in isn’t a bad idea. For the rest, make sure they know their safeword, and then the onus is on you to read their expressions, muscle tension, and breathing.

  “I hear what you’re saying”—Pete pulled at his blond mustache—“but I’m not sure I know what to look for.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s have an assessment lesson before we start on bondage.” Atticus raised his voice. “Jake?”

  No answer.

  After a brief wait, Atticus said in a dry voice, “Apparently they’re…occupied.”

  The group laughed.

  Atticus straightened, looking around. “Let’s see…”